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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26580853">a kind of pleasure</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/'>Anonymous</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Queen (Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Belly Kink, Belly Rubs, Body Worship, Chubby Roger Taylor (Queen), Fat Bottom Boy, Feeding Kink, Freddie's a chubby chaser, Insecurity, M/M, Weight Gain, soppy erotic kink... again</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 09:16:09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,471</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26580853</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Roger’s body was made to enjoy; relishes sex, drugs, and food with a kind of unconscious pleasure-seeking that makes Freddie rock hard in his pants without any effort. God, it’s no wonder he’s put on weight with such beautiful hedonism.</i><br/> </p><p>Roger quits smoking and gains weight. Freddie notices. Insecurity will not be tolerated.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Freddie Mercury/Roger Taylor</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>54</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Anonymous</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. quitting</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>*</p><p>While drinking at the club at the end of their tour Roger says it offhand. Crystal proffers the open end of the cigarette case in a practiced gesture and Roger says, “No thanks.” Blue eyes flicker to the box longingly. “I’m quitting.”</p><p>Freddie blinks in surprise. He honestly never thought Roger would quit. He can hardly imagine his friend without the perpetual haze of smoke. The rich nicotine accenting his cologne has long sunk into every shared piece of clothing passed between them and all the furniture of his Surrey mansion as well. It’s part and parcel of Roger’s rather notable presence.</p><p>“Are you really? Congratulations Roger, glad you’re finally breaking that disgusting habit,” Brian says.</p><p>“It’s not disgusting,” Roger mutters.</p><p>“You admit to seeing my side though now, don’t you?” Brian leans forward, finger pressing against the tabletop at the bar. “It wasn’t bad when you were younger, but I bet it’s hitting you now. All the shortness of breath and coughing.”</p><p>“Come off it,” Roger grouses. This is old territory long hashed and rehashed across through changing rooms around the world. “It doesn’t have anything to do with your nonsense.”</p><p>“Why are you quitting then?” John asks, swirling his vodka tonic.</p><p>“Dom’s been having this reoccurring pneumonia,” Roger explains. “It’s no good making her lungs work harder, so I’m weaning off to stop tomorrow when we get home.”</p><p>“That’s almost sweet of you,” Freddie croons.</p><p>“We’ll see how sweet it is when he’s howling and thrashing like a dog deprived a bone,” Crystal teases.</p><p>“Lucky you’re nearby to gnaw at,” Roger grins. Crystal winces good-naturedly and Ratty pats his arm. As the one most at his beck and call, Crystal will certainly face the most of it.</p><p>“With any luck, Rog’ll blow up like a blimp and won’t be able to catch you,” Ratty says. Freddie laughs with the rest, but a strange tingle rolls down his spine at the words.</p><p>“People do put on weight after they quit,” Brian muses.</p><p>Roger pats his stomach. “Nothing to fear there with my strict exercise regimen.”</p><p>“What, sex and drumming?” John asks.</p><p>“It does wonders,” Roger says solemnly, stroking over his stomach again. It’s a joke, and a good one. Everyone knows Roger’s the softest of them, but only minutely. The little inch at his stomach presses gently against his pants, always has done, even in the days of open satin shirts. Other than that, he’s as fit as the rest of them.</p><p>Even as Freddie laughs with the rest, his mind wanders.</p><p>A fatter Roger is almost as hard to picture as a Roger who doesn’t smoke. What would that slim prettiness look like wider? If Roger’s stomach stuck out, the pliant spill of his soft stomach made greater, more tactile. Maybe those soft cheeks of his might swell too, and his thighs and legs which he’s always hated anyway, pressing against the seams of his pants as he sat down for a lap dance, making space for his plush stomach to settle on top—</p><p>Hot, Freddie thinks, a little shamefully, a little curiously. It would be hot. He doesn’t mean to think of his friend in such a way, but Freddie’s always had an appreciation for bigger men and fat bottomed girls. Still, Roger deserves better. Freddie bites his lip, tries to banish the thought of pale thick thighs pinched between his fingers, dusted with blond downy hair, and Roger’s cut off gasp—</p><p>“Who’d like another drink?” He stands and gestures for the waitress, bringing a new round for everyone. He tries to drown his attention in his scotch and coke, but can’t quite stop himself from staring as Roger guzzles down his rich beer. His little tummy swells against his shirt with carbonation and calories.</p><p>Maybe it’s good they’re finishing the tour now, clearly, Freddie needs to indulge in the familiar debauchery of his domestic life.</p><p>*</p><p>*</p><p>The deluge of rather tasteless thoughts brought on from Crystal’s offhand comment doesn’t fully leave Freddie’s mind. Certainly, he occupies his time with his cats and (several) new boys at some of his favorite haunts. Phoebe and Joe keep his attention and indulge all his little whims, precious boys they are, but still, in the quiet moments, Freddie’s mind trips naughtily to that little drummer boy.</p><p>The reason Roger’s had that little inch of fluff all these years can really be attributed to his avoidance of exercise paired with a healthy appreciation of good food and good beer, something he claims as a Cornish trait. Personally, Freddie finds that to be a British trait at large, but he hardly quibbles over it when he’s had the good fortune of meeting so many men of a hearty size.</p><p>He wonders, hand dangling out of the bubble bath. if that healthy appetite is still serving him well. Many of his friends have quit smoking before and then cursed furiously as they find their curbed appetite swinging back with a vengeance. He’s even heard that cigarettes numb the taste buds after prolonged use. The first bite of an old favorite must be unparalleled, and Roger certainly has his vices. As a drummer, his appetite is already bigger than the rest of them, paired with this downtime and a sudden resurgence of taste, it’s a recipe for rather delicious thoughts.</p><p>His mind trips back to seeing him down drink after drink at the bar, his tipsy pleasantness, the stomach pressing against the band of his pants.  </p><p>Freddie sighs, feeling himself harden in the water. Damn.</p><p>Well, it would be easier not to think of Roger so inappropriately if he didn’t already know how Roger looks on his back, so to speak.</p><p>The odd drunk night in their shared flat led to more than it might in the daylight. It was casual, something that existed before Freddie knew definitively that he wasn’t straight. He loves Roger forever for never acting oddly or panicking after learning that Freddie was less than straight and probably took more from their drunken foolings than Roger ever expected.</p><p>Though it was quite blokey, to Freddie’s remembrance. It doesn’t feel blokey now, as he slips his hand into the water, trailing over his own warm thigh, thinking about Roger with a plush arse.</p><p>He just isn’t used to denying himself. He wasn’t good about it before he was famous, and he’s only gotten worse now that they’re rather on the top of the world. What a rotten situation.</p><p>He doesn’t masturbate very often, he has people to take care of his release. There’s always a willing and eager body moving and pulsing with the club bass, eager to come see about him.</p><p>He indulges in a flicker of irritation that Roger’s lowered him to such means even as he brings the image to mind, Roger filling his stomach with every sweet and deprived item, his face as he finds them too delicious, entirely too tasty. A second serving for everything.</p><p>He can imagine him leaning back, Roger’s half-lidded eyes and languorous pleasure as he groans. The echo of the sound comes to Freddie from a dozen occasions. They used to glut themselves after a particularly good sale from their Kensington shop. Money that should have gone to savings or groceries was blown instead on steak and enough beer for four people. Roger wasn’t a quitter then, would run food up to the top of his stomach and groan before forcing more food in.</p><p>He’s only gotten more ambitious as an adult, and the rich food so accessible, he must be blowing up so sweet and soft—</p><p>Freddie sighs as he unravels in the water, seeing the splatter of it swirl amidst the fading foam bubbles. Such a waste.</p><p>*</p><p>*</p><p>*</p><p>He sees Roger during their break from touring, naturally, but as it’s winter, the drummer is swaddled in sweaters and layered jackets galore. Freddie occasionally does scan him, looking for signs of the fated weight gain. Are his cheeks fatter, or are they just puffy with sleeplessness from too much partying and childrearing combined? Freddie decides at length that his imaginings are just that; the wonderings of a filthy mind. He can’t blame himself for that though. His depravity is nothing new and hardly worth censure.</p><p>They reenter the studio at the end of March, still bundled against the cold press of Munich’s winter’s end. It’s easy for Freddie to concentrate at the studio, there’s so much to be done, so many ideas to pursue and see through.</p><p>Roger’s hands have softened from the time off, and he grimaces as on the third run of the backing track. Freddie looks down at the mixing board for a moment, fiddling with pedals. When he looks back up, his mouth goes dry.</p><p>The sweater comes up and over Roger's head.</p><p>The drums are set at an angle in the corner, so Freddie has a perfect view of a stomach that presses temptingly against Roger’s under tee-shirt. It’s just an expansion of the pinchable pudge that used to live there, but Freddie wants to grip it. Weigh it in his hands and see if it is as soft and substantial as it looks. It’s still fresh, sticks out rather than falling down, but Freddie finds it utterly charming.</p><p>He jerks his eyes away, stares hard at the switchboard, and swallows. He doesn’t want it to be obvious, but it is <em>obvious</em> to more than just him.</p><p>“Put on a few at home then?” Ratty cracks.</p><p>“Piss off,” Roger snaps, hands intently tuning the drums.</p><p>“You and Dom aren’t expecting, are you?” John quips, eyes glittering.</p><p>“Expecting me to whack you, possibly.” Roger leans back from the kit. “Can I put down this track or do you all need more potshots.”</p><p>“Gut shots,” Crystal mutters, and laughs as he ducks a flying drum stick.</p><p>Freddie tries to laugh with everyone else, but it rings tinny in his own ears. Everyone has already moved past Roger’s little weight gain, but Freddie feels as though his eyes are drawn back to the sight, such softness, and warmth— he makes a concerted effort not to look and bores down into the switchboard instead.</p><p>When they call it quits to spelunk into the familiar yet always entertaining caverns of Munich, Freddie tags along to one of their favorite clubs. More and more often he’s been peeling off to see to his own gayer business, but he feigns casualness as he slips in after the rest.</p><p>All night, Freddie enjoys watching Roger throwback beer after beer, growing less aware of hiding his weight gain as he does. He’s roaring hungry after all that drumming and demands they make a stop for food before their next club, earning a few more jibes from the rest of their group before they stop for a warm dish. Roger had always eaten with relish, but Freddie can’t remember if he’s always made these high-pitched little sounds when eating. Intent sighs of appreciation, raspy like everything he does. They’re enrapturing. Freddie feels full up just from the listening to them, devouring them.</p><p>They’re seated beside each other in the booth, and Freddie is too aware of how if he shifts closer he can press against Roger’s thigh. He makes a concerted effort to resist.</p><p>“Does food really taste better?” Freddie can’t help but ask.</p><p>“Piss off,” Roger quips.</p><p>“No, I mean it. I’m curious,” Freddie presses.</p><p>Roger’s half-drunk eyes scan him for sincerity before nodding his head, leaning in a little closer so as not to earn jabs from the rest of their group.</p><p>His warm cheek presses against Freddie’s as he says, “Like night and day.”</p><p>The tilt of Freddie’s face lets him see Roger’s stomach clearly unobserved, the way a sliver of soft, nearly full gut peeks out from his sweater. The rate he’s going, it won’t be long until even the sweater won’t be enough. Freddie could reach out and touch it so easily—</p><p>“I’m glad then,” he says, pulling away, throat dry.</p><p>“At least you are,” Roger grumbles.</p><p>“What good is the food and the wine of the world if you can’t taste it,” Freddie shoots back with warm camp, and that earns a laugh from Roger.</p><p>“This is certainly worth it,” he says looking to his gut. “Though I’ll shift it soon.” Roger reaches for his beer.</p><p>Freddie sips his own vodka drink. Of that, he is less sure.</p><p>*</p><p>*</p><p>*</p><p>*</p><p>Freddie is quite right in his projection. The odds are rather stacked against Roger. Not only is he getting older, resting well in his thirties, but his opportunity for exercise has drastically been cut. Whereas before, the studio sessions were nearly as much of a drumming marathon as their tours, with Mack’s knack for cutting backing tracks and the integration of drum machines, Roger spends more and more time sitting on the couch. There he grazes on biscuits and sugary tea as he argues brimstone about a choice for the track, or on a lighter day, might try spitting on all of his fingers from a distance to make John laughs when he’s playing.</p><p>In consequence, his only real chance for some intense exercise is on tour and Freddie knows they’re months away from that still. In the interim, Roger partakes of their usual coke-binges, rich German meals, and available women. Everyone notices that Roger is putting on weight, but only Crystal finds any sport in continuing to tease it. The others probably barely notice. Contrarily, Freddie is practically keeping a diary as Roger expands.</p><p>Little by little his potbelly creeps soft and slow onto his lap in a puddle of decadence. His thighs press more ardently against the seams of his trousers, becoming almost shapely, not unlike his ass which swells and spreads over his drum stool a little more every day. Even his face becomes rounder, and strangely cuter for the masculine cut it’s taken in his older years.</p><p>Perhaps it’s because it’s Roger, someone Freddie has known so intimately as a rather thin man, or perhaps it is because this is his first opportunity to watch someone swell in close quarters, but it remains the most erotic six months of Freddie’s life.</p><p>If they weren’t in Munich he’d be pulling off twice a day. As it is, it’s all he can do to find a little pleasure in some gay corner of the city only to sprint back to a straight club and do a line off a stripper while keeping his eyes trained on Roger’s swollen arse doing the same across the room.</p><p>Fuck.</p><p>Freddie knows he’s always liked thicker bodies, big men. <em>Chubby chaser </em>Elton teases him, but this is something almost too intense for him. He fantasizes about pinching Roger, squeezing each spare inch of added plush and feeling it give in his grip. Roger’s raspy gasps, the chubby pout of his face… These fantasies are made all the more illicit because this is his very straight bandmate and friend. But Roger’s body was made to enjoy, relishes sex, drugs and food with a kind of unconscious pleasure-seeking that makes Freddie rock hard in his pants without any effort. God, it’s no wonder he’s put on weight with such beautiful hedonism.</p><p>As long as he never does anything about it, Freddie considers there’s not a line crossed. He’s just indulging in the intimate pleasure of watching a very attractive man grow round and heavy and just a little awkward with weight.</p><p>He looks down.</p><p>…He needs to find someone to give him a blow job.</p><p>*</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>next chapter has most of the insecurity and body worship at much closer quarters! </p><p>please consider commenting if you like it~</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. new vices</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>He hates the idea of Roger all wrapped up and hidden like there’s anything about him that still isn’t better and more beautiful than any bloke around.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>tw: for body image/weight issues</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>*</p><p>Freddie means to keep a firm line between his fantasies and reality, but one night they blur regardless of his intentions.</p><p>They’ve released their latest album, had a grand party and all. Now it’s time to say goodbye to Munich and start their tour. For their last night in the city, Freddie has planned the gay club crawl of the century. He means to kiss Munich off with style and tongue. He also intends to say goodbye to this chapter of watching Roger with hawklike intensity and getting off on his heftiness. Most if not all of it will disappear when the band starts their tour and the hours of drumming stack up. So, a grandiose show of Munich’s depravity has been arranged by Phoebe, with plenty of check-in points with the straight faction of their group for Freddie to soak his fill of Roger’s pleasant swell. Freddie’s dressed to the nines for it when all his plans go out the window.</p><p>“Where’s Roger?” Freddie asks Brian, leaning to look at their group as they gather in the foyer.</p><p>“Said he wasn’t in the mood,” Brian answers.</p><p>“We can’t paint the town a man down, it simply isn’t done!” Freddie protests.</p><p>Brian raises a brow. “What, we’re supposed to sit around if he’s having a snit?”</p><p>More incisively, John asks, “You’re going to sit around on our last night in Munich if he’s having a snit?”</p><p>Certainly not, if Roger’s in a mood Freddie’s going to leave him to marinate. Nothing doing there, even if he had plans for dear Roger.</p><p>“We should check up on him at least,” he allows and rapidly scales the stairs to Roger’s room. Dominique was visiting for most of the trip but has long left to get little Felix home for a visit from her family. It’s only Roger he has to worry about as he raps a little tune on the wood.</p><p>“Darling, won’t you come out?” He raps again. “Dear Roger, come out to play,”</p><p>The door opens, revealing a rather rumpled Roger in the gap, hand running over his mussed blond hair. “Er, thanks Fred, but I think I’d rather stay in tonight.”</p><p>Freddie blinks. “What <em>are </em>you wearing?”</p><p>Roger’s face goes red as he looks down at the sweats and hideous orange baggy shirt that still only barely disguises his stomach. “Nothing Fred. Not going out anyways, so why dress up?” He looks to the side and mutters, “Not that anything fits right.” It’s quiet, and mostly to himself, but Freddie hears it and a pang crosses his stomach. The thought is incredibly hot, but Freddie also feels sympathetic for his friend, for the way Roger folds his hands over his stomach like he might hide it.</p><p>“Well, that’s perfect for me!” Freddie bursts, “Because I’m staying in too.”</p><p>Roger raises a brow, looks up and down Freddie’s vinyl pants that took thirty minutes to put on and the sleek black jacket he’d been bragging about all day. “You are?”</p><p>“Of course I am.”</p><p>“It’s our last night in Munich,” Roger reasons.</p><p>“Stomach.” Freddie babbles on, “My stomach feels awful. I think I’d rather stay in and have a little wine over some death scrabble.”</p><p>Roger’s hands clench for a moment before relaxing. “Well, all right. Don’t mind if I join you unless it was death scrabble for one.” He smiles, his generous cheeks pressing out and Freddie sighs.</p><p>“For you darling, my scrabble board is always open.”</p><p>*</p><p>*</p><p>Freddie sends their retinue on to conquer Munich in their absence (something that took very little persuading, Freddie’s put-out to say. As though the party is worth going to without Freddie, <em>honestly</em>). Phoebe at least offers to stay and tend to Freddie’s stomach. On any other day, he would appreciate the fawning but tonight he sends Phoebe off for a good time. Roger is the one in need of a little TLC.</p><p>He and Roger settle down on the couches for some classic scrabble. Freddie collects wine and beer from the kitchen, and then, with a feeling of guilty hesitation, also collects a platter of meats and cheeses one of their producers gave them.</p><p>Roger gives the plate a wary look as Freddie sets it down but it relaxes when Freddie takes a couple bites himself and muses about being starving. Freddie pours the wine and focuses instead on having a solid night in with one of his best friends. It isn’t hard to do.</p><p>“You can’t put an endeavour without the ‘u!’” Roger groans as Freddie counts the tiles he added to ‘end.’</p><p>“It’s the American spelling.”</p><p>“But we’re British!” Roger protests.</p><p>“We’re in international waters, so to speak,” Freddie shoots back, grinning to himself as Roger grumbles but throws the score on the sheet of paper. As the night proceeds, Freddie is glad to see that Roger relaxes into their usual patterns. He gripes, tells jokes, and enjoys the drink and food as he does. His hands don’t hover around his stomach and his ease with his body makes Freddie feel better than anything else.</p><p>He hates the idea of Roger all wrapped up and hidden like there’s anything about him that still isn’t better and more beautiful than any bloke around (maybe sans Freddie). His casual air makes it easier for Freddie to lower his own guard, stare a little longer at the crest of his stomach, his softer face. He’s a lovely man, and Freddie can’t help but feel the extra weight only adds to his appeal.</p><p>He watches, rapt as Roger reaches blindly for another serving of German pork and Italian cheese. His brow furrows as he puzzles over his board. His tongue meets the pork halfway, guides it blind into his mouth, pink length wrapping around the morsel. He exhales a little grunt as he swallows, hand falling to his stomach, grown more turgid with alcohol and food. He sighs when he finishes, something like pleasure or relief, his fingers skating gently and absently over the swell of his body. Then his blue eyes cut towards Freddie and see him watching. All at once, the plain enjoyment on his face vanishes and his arms drop between them.</p><p>“Sorry.” Then, scrambling, adds, “Taking so much time with this, aren’t I?”</p><p>He quickly lays out his play, posture closing off as he does.</p><p>“Nothing wrong with thinking carefully, darling,” Freddie says. He stares down at the line of letters, struggling to make any sense of them. The awkward air floats between them before Roger breaks it with a laugh.</p><p>“I’ve gotten a bit carried away I think,” Roger says, lips quirking as if in a joke. “I guess it is true you put on weight when you quit smoking. I just didn’t think it would be so…”</p><p>“So?” Freddie asks.</p><p>“Much,” Roger finally says. “It’s a little disgusting.” He laughs then, hollow, no real enjoyment. His desire to make things casual clashing with his own feelings of unsettlement.</p><p>Freddie can’t let this self-slur slide, and especially such an untrue one at that. He clucks his tongue.</p><p>“I assure you, there’s nothing disgusting about you. Not one hair, and trust that I’ve looked, you golden bastard.”</p><p>Roger laughs, almost a little surprised. He stares down, a little wry. “Maybe it’s time you go to the eye doctor because I can think of a few stone you’ve overlooked.”</p><p>Freddie’s mouth feels bereft. How can he explain that the weight only adds to it, only makes Roger look so comfortable to touch, so pleasurable?</p><p>Roger goes on, unaware of Freddie’s internal conflict. “I thought I could shift it before we started the tour, but I forgot how tempting Munich is.” He huffs a laugh. “Dom’s not going to have to worry about fidelity this tour, no one’s going to want to touch me with the other end of a baton.”</p><p>“That is a patent untruth,” Freddie says. His hands work almost helplessly over the side of the table. He’s pinned by Roger’s vivid blue eyes. “There are plenty of people who understand that a little weight only makes… only makes everything better.”</p><p>He swallows after speaking. He’s never uttered the nuances of his attraction aloud in a way that wasn’t a crass joke. This vulnerability makes him flushed and terrified, but his fear disperses when he sees a pale pink take Roger’s full face.</p><p>Freddie expects Roger to laugh maybe, or call Freddie a freak, but instead, he blurts,</p><p>“You must be joking!”</p><p>Freddie frowns. “It’s true.”</p><p>“How is it possible to find… to find this—” Freddie inhales sharply through his nose as Roger takes part of his stomach in hand and shakes it roughly. “In any way appealing?”</p><p>The sheer foreignness he treats his body with, like it isn’t his, roughly handling it without the love and care he’s bestowed it all his life feeds a sudden fire in Freddie. A Roger who doesn’t appreciate his body with casual vanity is more of a stranger than a Roger that doesn’t smoke. And he won’t stand for it.</p><p>Freddie shoots to his feet. Roger startles even further as Freddie comes closer and takes the seat beside him.</p><p>Roger shuffles back on the couch. “What are you doing?”</p><p>“I’m trying to demonstrate something, now stop wiggling!” He scoots closer until Roger is pinned on one side by the couch arm and by Freddie on the other side. It’s better than expected, having his slim thigh pressing fully against Roger’s more brimming on. Roger runs hotter now with the weight gain and the warmth leaks through his tight sleeping pants and into Freddie’s skin. He shivers despite it. God, nothing compares to a big warm man…</p><p>Roger looks at him, not without a little uncertainty in his eyes. Freddie barely resists nipping his fullmoon cheeks. Instead, he squeezes his arm behind Roger. His hand laces through the gap in his elbow and comes to a satisfying stop at the burgeoning side of his stomach.</p><p>Roger goes incredibly still as Freddie moves his hand up and down the curve of it. It’s even softer than he imagined. He lets out a long sigh as it presses and bounces back against his light prods. He gently pinches the hip swelling out the rim of his pants.</p><p>His attention slips to Roger, to wonder if he’s lost his mind stepping over this line, but he finds a furrowed brow.</p><p>“You actually find this attractive?”</p><p>“Yes,” Freddie breathes. He cups the underside of his stomach, finally having a chance to weigh it in his hands. “This tells me someone knows how to enjoy themselves.” It <em>fills</em> his grip.</p><p>“I didn’t have a problem with it before, I promise,” Roger grouses.</p><p>“But I can see it now, and feel it. You’re so soft, my dear.”</p><p>“That’s not a compliment,” Roger says, but his voice escapes gruffer, raspier. Freddie digs his thumb into a bellybutton and grins as Roger wiggles like a fish on a hook. When they meet eyes again, Roger’s are half-dilated, the same curiosity from before but tilted hotter. Roger is nearly always ready for Freddie’s games, for some new sexual appetite.</p><p>Blue eyes flicker down, sizing up Freddie’s blatant stiffening cock —there’s a reason he wears these pants to the clubs— before a blush spreads over Roger’s face.</p><p>“All right, dear?” Freddie asks, stilling his hand.</p><p>Roger licks his lips. “All right, Fred.”</p><p>It’s as much of a blessing as they ever asked in their early days fooling around, half drunk and utterly horny. Freddie’s quite certain he’s never been harder for Roger though and he means to show that to him.</p><p>Freddie lets his hand drift up inside the hideous shirt towards Roger’s slightly softer chest. With the drumming he’s done, there hasn’t been much of a change, but there’s enough to pinch, so pinch Freddie does, relishing the hiss and giggle Roger emits. Still, so much like the giggly drunk of Freddie’s memories.</p><p>“Oh fuck,” Roger utters, hands going to pull down his shirt shoved up by Freddie’s arm.</p><p>“None of that darling.” Freddie shushes him, pulling his right hand away and lowering it to his expanded gut, lacing the back of his hand there to keep it pinned. Roger reflexively sucks in a breath, but Freddie twists a nipple and kicks the air out of him.</p><p>“Do you feel that?” Freddie asks, staring at the red hue covering the side of Roger’s face as he squeezes his and Roger’s hands against the pale stomach now utterly visible to them both. “Feels like someone’s been taking care of themselves.”</p><p>“Freddie…” Roger starts.</p><p>“I like seeing that,” Freddie says. “Makes me warm inside to think about it.” He takes mercy on Roger and moves their hands lower to the place where, against Freddie’s expectations, Roger’s cock is stiffening beneath his shorts.</p><p>“Do you love it yet?” Freddie asks. Roger shakes his head, mute but panting as Freddie curls their palms over his rising erection. His bare stomach pushes out with each pant and Freddie has to bite against Roger’s throat to stop himself from ravaging him too quickly. Something as decadent as this must be enjoyed delicately.</p><p>“We’ll get there,” Freddie says. “Budge up.” Roger quickly helps shimmy down his sweats, seeming relieved when Freddie releases his grip on an over-abused nipple and the shirt slips down. It doesn’t last, as Freddie now has both hands to try and wrangle Roger out of it.</p><p>“Fred!” Roger protests when Freddie manages the feat. The shirt is tossed away, and Roger folds his arms over his bare chest.</p><p>“What, darling?” He sucks a hickey on the side of Roger’s neck, drops his hand to Roger’s now exposed cock and the rest of Roger’s complaint is swallowed in a long, drawn-out groan. “Budge up a little more.”</p><p>Soon, he’s manipulated himself behind Roger, his strong thighs squeezing on either end of Roger’s plush ones.</p><p>Freddie takes a moment to undo his own pants, slipping them down past his own cock. When his erection brushes the pert of Roger’s ass and the chubby width of his lower back, Roger startles. Freddie coos at him like a wild horse. He has just enough height to hook his head on Roger’s shoulders and whisper to him as he reaching both his arms around him.</p><p>“Can you see it? The way your cockhead hits your stomach.”</p><p>Roger groans, tries to look away, but Freddie takes one of his hands, lacing it the same way before and drags it down until they’re fondling the cock laying flush against his swollen tummy. The stomach is not a mere inch anymore, it’s properly plush.</p><p>“Look at you, all wound up from this,” Freddie says, relishing the twitch of Roger’s cock in their hands. “I’d almost think you’re enjoying this.”</p><p>“I’m not,” Roger protests. “I hate it,” he says, with a mix of embarrassment and arousal.</p><p>“I know you do,” Freddie says. “But you also love your body. You love other people watching you, touching you, getting off on you. That’s what I’ve been doing for six months.”</p><p>Roger whines and cants forward. The motion rubs Freddie all up and down. His cock dips in the upper cleft of Roger’s brimming arse.</p><p>“Fuck, Freddie,” Roger gasps, pre-come spilling over their fingers. Freddie rocks against him. His lips seek the soft underside of Roger’s jaw, suck at the flesh there. His hand urges Roger to jerk himself off and enjoy the pleasures of his body. Get off on it the same way Freddie has.</p><p>He swears for a moment before he starts again. “I’m trying to demonstrate that it hasn’t changed… a damn bit. Your body is made for pleasure, darling, thick or thin, but preferably thick.”</p><p>Roger cusses, shudders in his grip as Freddie adds more pressure, twists their hands together over Roger’s cock. Thick thighs squeeze together as he comes in little ropes over their fingers.</p><p>Freddie grunts and reaches his free hand back behind him and jerks himself. Roger’s arse, his pretty fucked out panting, and the way his cum drips down the warm, overfilled stomach sends Freddie shooting off after him.</p><p>God, but it’s good.</p><p>Roger pants, stunned with the night’s turn.</p><p>His head jerks back, almost knocking Freddie’s nose in. “Jesus, Fred! I thought you were going to kill me!”</p><p>Freddie laughs warmly. His hands slink down and make sticky trails as he wraps around Roger’s middle in an indulgent hug.</p><p>Roger goes quiet for a moment, grumbling but allowing it. “You are something else.” Freddie buries himself in the back of Roger’s hair.</p><p>“So are you, darling. Don’t forget it.”</p><p>He feels Roger’s smile, the easing of his body and they stay wrapped up for a moment, warm and satiated.</p><p>*</p><p>*</p><p>*</p><p>After they clean up and get their clothes on, Roger graces Freddie with a wry look. His hands don’t seek to cover himself, and Freddie counts this as a victory, maybe the start to a new angle to appreciate his body. </p><p>Roger’s head tilts up, the red mark Freddie sucked into his soft chin showing. “You know, it might take a couple months of shows before I shift this,” Roger muses, his eyes glittering.</p><p>Freddie grins. “Do let me know if you need help in the interim. It would only be my pleasure, dear.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>thanks for reading! </p><p>https://debdarkpetal.tumblr.com/post/629958831236087808 here's a pic of rog with a bit of belly though obviously picture him however you like best. </p><p>thanks for indulging this soppy filth, i'd love feedback (⺣◡⺣)♡*</p>
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